The changes in ti are not evident within the Wandering Crossroads. Sunlight pierces through the haze of the Great Rift and reaches the Wandering Crossroads in the ravine, its feeble rays barely illuminating the dimness. As a result, the lights within the Wandering Crossroads remain almost perpetually lit, their harsh white glow slicing through the fog like the enormous eyes of monsters, watching the comings and goings of people.
Ti here seems frozen; whether it’s noon or midnight, there is only greyness and pallor, transforming it into a monster’s den.
Deep within the den, Vika bustles behind the bar. Glancing at the clock, it is nearly midnight. Every night around this ti, business is bustling.
All sorts of mythical creatures erge from the shadows of the Wandering Crossroads. Gathered here, so drink and make rry, while others exchange secretive information, then proceed towards various ends.
The sound of music and alcohol is intoxicating, almost saturating the tables and chairs, engulfing everyone’s minds.
Observing all this, Vika is long accustod to the scene. Drunken patrons collapse slowly along the edge of the bar like corpses, sprawled aside. And there are plenty of such ’corpses’ in the bar.
Vika rubs his eyes. Though he is used to this, perhaps due to old age, in his younger days he could dance to the restless music, but now he finds it all just noisy.
After mixing a new batch of drinks, Vika signals for soone else to take over for a while. He needs a break in the back, not forgetting to take the small box under the bar with him as he leaves. This is Vika’s treasure, which he carries everywhere, filled with Mammon Coins.
As he leaves the bar, those custors still conscious raise their glasses to salute Vika, indicating the respect everyone has for this bartender.
Inside his office, he shuts the door, sealing away the noise and the intoxicating scent of alcohol. Vika finally feels a bit more relaxed. In this ghostly place, even quiet is especially precious.
He picks up a cigarette and smokes it calmly. Without turning on the lights in the office, the glow of the cigarette embers faintly illuminates blurred outlines.
Vika pulls open the cabinet under his desk, where a safe sits. He has opened it countless tis, and using touch alone, he turns the lock open, then deposits all the Mammon Coins from the small box inside.
In the darkness, only the cigarette serves as the light source. This faint glow falling upon the Mammon Coins causes them to shimr.
Relying on this ager light, the lustrous golden sheen dances along the edges of the Mammon Coins like a Philosopher’s Stone, emanating so unknown magic power, transforming Vika’s eyes into a golden hue, like molten gold lacquer.
Vika’s gaze remains calm, unaffected as he prepares to close the safe, but a Mammon Coin slips out, rolling to Vika’s feet.
Picking it up, the back shows Mammon embracing the gold, while the front depicts a howling wolf pack.
Seeing this, Vika’s gaze becos slightly unfocused, and he utters the nearly forgotten na.
"Lebius."
Vika closes the safe, not returning the Mammon Coin to its place, but instead clutching it in his hand, rubbing its surface with rough fingers, polishing it until it gleams.
"Seven years have passed in a flash. I nearly forgot about you, so why have you suddenly reappeared?"
Vika ponders deeply with a sense of unease. For seven years, Lebius has been low-key, with no news erging. Vika once thought he had left Opus, returned to his hotown in the Rhine Alliance, and led a retired life.
But now he reappears, dispatching his emissary.
Recalling the image of Bologue, Vika furrows his brow.
Having mingled in the Wandering Crossroads for so long, he has encountered countless demons and devils, his nose even sharper than Bologue’s. From Bologue, he can sll that scent.
A faint, decaying stench, as if the soul beneath that shell is rotting and collapsing, yet his scent isn’t as strong and distinct as a Devil’s.
Like a soul struggling between continuity and collapse...
"Debtor..."
An old term arises in his mind, and Vika’s gaze grows somber.
For a mont, even breathing becos stifling, as if the air indoors grows heavier, with a roaring storm approaching the Wandering Crossroads.
Vika knows full well that Oath City, Opus is far from what it seems on the surface.
He feels sothing is about to happen. Undercurrents stir, and after seven years or even longer centuries of recuperation, the monsters hiding in the dark have once again amassed strength, sharpening their teeth, thirsting for blood, attempting to break free from the shadows and continue the unfinished war.
A wave of helplessness and lancholy wells within him. Vika knows all too well that such a peaceful life will not last forever, but when it is truly about to be shattered, he feels a reluctance, wishing to prolong this way of life.
He closes his eyes as darkness descends, trying to calm his thoughts, but they’re interrupted by rapid knocking. Vika opens his eyes, the door pushed ajar, and light floods in. It’s Nelli.
"Sothing’s happened."
Nelli appears sowhat anxious.
"What happened? Soone causing trouble?"
Vika stands up. He has been able to hold his ground in the Wandering Crossroads for so long, relying not only on connections and relationships but also his own formidable strength to protect himself and intimidate adversaries.
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